


Thanksgiving and the Constant Threat of Time and Libraries

by TerribleTerribleOrbs



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Carlos is Human, Carlos is a Dork, Cecil Is Not Described, Cecil Is a Good Boyfriend, Cecilos Fluff, M/M, No Smut, Thanksgiving, abby palmer is scary, cecilos thanksgiving, honestly the thing with the calendars is just some self reflection, im really shitty at keeping track of the days, mentions of the librarians - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-22
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-08-27 18:47:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16708009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerribleTerribleOrbs/pseuds/TerribleTerribleOrbs
Summary: Carlos realizes it's Thanksgiving while marking the days off on his calendar. Cecil panics. Libraries are mentioned.





	Thanksgiving and the Constant Threat of Time and Libraries

**Author's Note:**

> Sooooooooooooooooooo I realized that today is Thanksgiving (woop woop!) and I decided to write some holiday-based fanfic. At first I was gonna make Thanksgiving into a terrifying holiday (like Valentines), but then I remembered that it's been mentioned on the show multiple times, and it's never really been suggested as something super violent or terrifying, and I didn't want to break canon, soo. Yeah. Here's this instead.

“It’s Thanksgiving.”

It came out as more of a question rather than a statement. Carlos looked at the calendar on the wall with a mix of confusion and surprise, seemingly unable to compute the new information. Every year for the past who-knows-how-many years, Carlos had decided to purchase a calendar. Every year, he decided to keep track of the days, as if it was some sort of stepping stone to becoming a better, more organized person. Every year, his calendar would be used for about a week. Every few weeks Carlos would need to write down some important date, and then he would remember the calendar. He would cross out all the days that had passed, and write down the date he needed to remember. He would completely forget the calendar for another few weeks, and then the cycle would repeat itself. This cycle continued when he arrived in Night Vale.

His hand clutched a red, felt-tip marker in a way that most people did not hold writing utensils, but that he had grown accustomed to over many years of improperly holding pencils and pens. He had just crossed off the 21st (International Mandatory Chanting Day), and was now staring at the 22nd. Thanksgiving, 2018. 

Carlos had never really been sure when to mark off days on a calendar (not that he needed to do it very often). Should he do it in the early morning, just when he woke up, or at night, when the day was basically over? He glanced at his wrist watch, (not that time really meant anything), and saw it was already 2:43 am. Marking off a day at noon seems completely wrong, so Carlos resolves to do it later, when the day has ended. He glances at the next day, (the 23rd, which has been scribbled violently with black marker by a hand that is not Carlos’s), before capping the (probably not legal) red marker he was holding.

Since when was it Thanksgiving? 

“Hey sweetie?” Carlos left the kitchen, turning on his socked-heels and heading into the living room. His boyfriend sat on the couch, slightly hunched over the papers he was holding. They were written in a language Carlos had learned to recognize as Weird Spanish, though Carlos wasn’t sure when Cecil had learned it, considering it was only fairly recently that Night Vale Elementary had introduced it into their language courses. Cecil clutched a purple highlighter in one hand (possibly legal, but probably not), and was slowly dragging it across the page. At Carlos’s call, he immediately looked up. The grin of adoration he wore could make the heart of any man melt, and Carlos found himself unable to say anything for a few moments. Cecil leaned back on the worn couch, fixing Carlos with a gaze that communicated his undivided attention. 

“What’s up?” Cecil asked, smiling gently at Carlos’ loss for words.

Almost immediately, Carlos’s usual response was triggered.

“ThE sKY.” It was a very old, very reused, and certainly very scientifically-accurate joke. Carlos  _ always _ responded to ‘what’s up’ with that response, and yet, to his surprise, Cecil still hadn’t tired of it. Carlos couldn’t remember a time when he dated someone who didn’t sigh with annoyance at one of Carlos’ puns, much less  _ set them up knowingly. _ Cecil grinned, rolling his eyes in a way that said  _ Of course _ , but showed no actual displeasure. He looked back at Carlos, clearly expecting him to say something more. It took Carlos a few seconds to actually remember why he had called Cecil’s name in the first place. “Oh, right! So, uh… Did you know it’s Thanksgiving today? Cuz I was just marking the-”

“it’S THANKSGIVING?” Cecil was off the couch and walking past Carlos in an instant, much faster than should be possible for a human being. Startled, it took Carlos a moment to turn around and follow Cecil. The radio host had entered the bedroom, and was now fumbling around in his closet. Worried that Thanksgiving in Night Vale was just as dangerous as Valentines day.

“...Cecil? Are we- are we in danger?” Carlos asked, his voice acquiring a nervous tremble. Cecil, usually rather unphased by the horrific damage regularly delt to the town and its citizens, was slightly terrifying when he seemed genuinely scared. He grabbed one of the many flannels he had stolen from Carlos, piled a sweater on top of it, and looked Carlos in the eye with a frenzied gaze.

“ **Yes.** ” He turned back to the closet, grabbed a pair of paints, and started to frantically change out of his pajamas. “I should have remembered… didn’t even change…” Cecil muttered random sentences as he got dressed. Carlos, already  _ very _ panicked, barely understood what his boyfriend was saying.

“Cecil what’s going on?” His voice had gone up an octave. What terrible, probably turkey-related horrors could be enough to scare Cecil so much? 

“Carlos, how could I have  _ forgotten _ .” Cecil’s voice, so clearly mournful, sent shivers (and not the good kind) up Carlos’ back. The radio host, now fully dressed in a shockingly coherent and formal outfit, looked Carlos in the eye with a broken gaze. “Abby - my sister - is hosting this year’s Thanksgiving feast.” Cecil stared, clearly expecting some sort of reaction from Carlos. Abby seemed pleasant enough, though she  _ did _ sort of have a ‘Wrong-me-and-they’ll-never-find-your-body’ vibe.

“...that’s it?” Cecil shook his head.

“Carlos, it starts at 3pm.” Still no terrified response from Carlos. “It’s…” Cecil glanced down at his own watch, despite the fact that time didn’t really mean anything in Night Vale. “2:50 right now!!” 

“Cecil, I’m sure she’ll understand if-”

“Carlos, dear, sweet, Carlos. Last time I was late to one of her Thanksgiving celebrations, she  _ threw me in the Library.  _ I was  **_yeeted_ ** into the library, as the kids say.” Carlos, who was very aware of the dangers of the library and the librarians that dwelled within, suddenly understood Cecil’s fear of being late. 

They left less than five minutes later, tires screeching in a hauntingly similar way to the librarians.


End file.
